Swallowing her disappointment, she stood, came forward and held out her hand. "Rachel Pendergast, in case you'd forgotten." Her surname was easy to mispronounce.
"Hello, Rachel." His smile dazzled her.
On second glance, he might still be in high school. She had to restrain herself not to ask if he was over eighteen. Oh, no, what had she gotten herself into now?
"I can seat you immediately," the hostess said, carrying two menus. "If you'll follow me."
Rachel was convinced every eye in the room was on Nate and her. He was so young. How could she have missed that at the auction? It must've been awfully dark in there—or those margaritas had impaired her vision. Well, thirty wasn't that old, but at the moment she felt like she could be his mother.
They were shown to a table by the window with a lovely view. Early-evening sunlight played on the sparkling water and the lighthouse in the distance looked downright romantic. Rachel studied the menu and tried hard to think of a conversation-starter. Working with the public she'd never found that a problem. Now she felt distracted, as if she'd become a spectacle for the entire restaurant, sitting there with her date. Her young date. The guy she'd had to buy at an auction.
Finally she couldn't bear not knowing. Lowering the menu she gazed across the table at Nate. "I'm sorry if this is rude, but I need to ask you something. Just how old are you?"
Nate gave her a charming grin. "Twenty-five."
Instantly she felt worlds better. Five years—that wasn't so bad.
"How old are you?" he asked in return.
"Thirty. I've never been married, no kids and I'm a nail tech—which used to be called a manicurist—and hair stylist."
"Never been married either. No kids." He added hesitantly, "In fairness, I should tell you I'm seeing someone else."
Okay, so she'd blown three hundred bucks on another woman's boyfriend, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the evening. Still, she wondered why he'd agreed to be part of the auction if he was seriously involved with someone.
"What about you?"
Rachel shook her head. She hadn't gone to the Dog and Bachelor Auction because she had a burning desire to donate to charity. Well, she did have a soft spot in her heart for animals. But that hadn't been the driving force that had led her to the auction.
"I didn't mean to mislead you."
"You didn't." He was certainly straightforward enough. Almost the first words out of his mouth had been to inform her that there was someone in his life. They talked briefly about this woman, who was from his hometown of Fresno.
They both had the night's special, grilled Pacific salmon, which was as delicious as she'd expected it to be. Although she was technically supposed to pick up the bill, Nate insisted on paying. He escorted her back to her car and then surprised her by asking, "Would you like to walk along the waterfront?"
She agreed, and they strolled side by side toward the marina. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back.
"What's going on over there?" he asked, nodding toward the WaterfrontPark.
"I don't know. Want to check it out?"
He shrugged. "Sure."
It didn't take Rachel long to realize it was a wedding party. From a distance they watched the bride and groom exchange their vows. The sun had begun to set, sinking in the glorious blue sky, casting shreds of sunlight across the surface of the water.
For reasons she didn't understand, tears filled Rachel's eyes. If Nate saw, she'd be mortified. She barely knew this man and she'd probably never see him again. Really, there was no reason for them to continue dating. He was involved. She was older. This was it, the beginning and the end of their relationship.
"Rachel?"
He turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders. His frown told her he was both confused and concerned. "What's wrong?"
"I always cry at weddings," she said apologetically, making light of her tears. They fell unrestrained down her face. And yet she wasn't actually a woman prone to tears. Not until that moment, at any rate. Lowering her head, she wiped them from her cheeks, furious with herself. "Sorry."
Without a word, Nate took her in his arms. He didn't say anything, didn't make soothing sounds. All he did was hold her. It'd been so long since a man had touched her with such gentleness, such kindness, that she wasn't sure how to respond.
Looking up at him was a mistake because she discovered that he was staring at her. Then they were kissing. Rachel had no idea who kissed whom first. One thing quickly became evident: What Nate lacked in years he made up for in experience. The man knew how to kiss. His mouth moved seductively over hers in a way that sent goose bumps shooting down her arms. He kissed her as if she were the sweetest thing he'd ever known; he savored her, relished her.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, Rachel's knees were so weak she felt she might collapse in a puddle at his feet. Caught in the sheer wonder of their kiss, she kept her eyes closed.
Thankfully he didn't apologize or make excuses, nor did he seem inclined to explain.
When she felt her composure returning, Rachel opened her eyes. "That was... very nice."
"Yes, it was," Nate whispered, then cleared his throat. "I'll walk you to your car now."
She nodded. One again she'd been wrong; she hadn't wasted her money. His kiss was worth every penny of the three hundred dollars she'd paid for this evening's date.
All the way back to the restaurant, Nate remained speechless. So did she. The truth was, Rachel didn't know what to say.
She led him to her car and got out her keys. "I had a lovely evening, Nate. Thank you."
He placed his palm against her cheek. "I did, too. But I don't think it's a good idea to see each other again."
"I understand."
"The thing is, I want to."
Rachel was careful not to meet his eyes, otherwise he'd be able to tell how badly she wanted to see him, too. "Life is like that sometimes."
"I know." His words were filled with regret.
She climbed into her car and backed out of her parking spot, hands a little shaky on the steering wheel. Driving off, she saw Nate in her rearview mirror. He stood in the lot, just stood there, watching her. Rachel felt a sense of melancholy as she pulled onto the street and headed home.
Apparently romance just wasn't for her. Damn, damn, damn!
Twenty-Eight
Maryellen's assistant, Lois Habbersmith, arrived at the Harbor Street Gallery shortly before noon. Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Maryellen grabbed the unopened letter and stuffed it in her skirt pocket.
"Lois, I'm going for a walk."
The other woman glanced at her in surprise. Maryellen almost always ate at her desk, grabbing a bite here and there between customers. With the summer half over, tourist traffic was at its peak and the gallery staff was often swamped.
"I won't be long," Maryellen promised. All she needed was a few uninterrupted minutes to read the letter. The moment she'd seen the return address, she'd known. The older couple who'd visited two weeks earlier and asked so many questions about Jon were his father and stepmother. Maryellen had suspected it then. Now she was sure.
As soon as she could, Maryellen left the gallery and walked down to the waterfront park. She slipped onto a picnic bench at the gazebo, removing the envelope from her pocket. For a long moment she stared at it, deciding that the sharply slanted handwriting was more likely a man's than a woman's.
Maryellen's hand trembled as she ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single typed sheet. Glancing at the first paragraph, she could see she'd been correct; his father was the one who'd written.
Dear Maryellen,
I imagine it must be a shock to receive this letter. When Marion and I got your very welcome note regarding Jon and your marriage, we were thrilled to have some way of reaching our son. You see, Jon is all we have left in the world that matters. My wife and I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but we've paid for our sins many times over. Your letter, informing us of your marriage to Jon and the birth of our granddaughter, gave us hope. In all these years, Jon hasn't once acknowledged our letters. He's made it very clear that he desires no contact with his family.
Once we learned that he'd moved onto the piece of land inherited from his grandfather, I drove to Cedar Cove, hoping to talk to him. Marion doesn't know this, but my son threw me off the property. He refused to speak to me. Seeing the hate in him unnerved me, and I decided then that I would bide my time. I prayed that somehow, some way, he'd find his way to forgiveness. Until your letter, I'd almost given up hope.
As you probably guessed, Marion and I were the people who stopped by the art gallery a couple of weeks back. We couldn't get over our good fortune when we met you. In your previous letter, you'd failed to mention that you worked at the gallery.
Your love for Jon is unmistakable. We thank God he found you and thank God you cared enough to contact us.
Marion and I have often talked about this and are at our wits' end. We have tried every way we know to reach our son, to beg his forgiveness and to bridge this gap of pain and bitterness. You are our only hope. Would you act as a mediator? It would mean the world to us if you'd talk to Jon on our behalf. He won't listen to us but I know he'll listen to you.
Thank you.
Joseph Bowman
P.S. Marion and I did visit the restaurant you mentioned and were impressed by Jon's work. I never realized how gifted my son is. Again I have you to thank for that discovery.
Maryellen read the letter a second time. Jon's father was asking the impossible of her. Her husband was adamant that he wanted nothing to do with his parents. As far as he was concerned, they were no longer part of his life.
As she drove home with Katie at the end of the day, Maryellen was still thinking about what his parents had asked her to do. Although she knew how Jon felt about his family, she'd gone behind his back. In fact, she'd done so against his express wishes. She hated that she'd started her marriage with an act of deception. If Jon ever learned she'd contacted his parents and mailed them photos of Katie, he might never forgive her. She'd taken a terrible risk already and now they were asking her to take another—a risk that was potentially even more disastrous. Maryellen longed to help, but she was afraid of what that would do to her marriage.
When she pulled into the yard, Jon walked out to the car to meet her and Katie. He smiled as he opened the back passenger door and released their daughter from her baby seat. Eager to escape the confines of the restrictive carrier, Katie gleefully flung out her arms and cooed at her father.
"Hi, honey," he said, kissing Maryellen briefly.
"Hi."
Despite her efforts to appear normal, her voice must have betrayed her, because Jon looked back over his shoulder. "Something wrong?"
Maryellen smiled at her husband and shook her head. He continued into the house, carrying Katie, while she followed with the diaper bag. In that instant she knew she couldn't jeopardize their secure world. They were happy. She couldn't afford to compromise their happiness, not Jon's or Katie's— or her own.
They ate on the deck that evening. Jon had poached halibut in wine and lemon, and topped it with a fresh tomato-and-basil salsa. The advantages of having a husband who was a marvelous chef were too numerous to count.
